


Strenuous (1)

by ImpOfPerversity



Series: Devastation-verse [25]
Category: Baroque Cycle - Neal Stephenson, Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: 1 Sentence Fiction, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-31
Updated: 2004-12-31
Packaged: 2018-10-21 07:33:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10680660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpOfPerversity/pseuds/ImpOfPerversity
Summary: Previously onimpofperversity:the cot, after all, having proved unequal to the demands made upon it by their more ... strenuous ... activitiestessabethexpressed a desire to know what'd happened: and as you all know, I can deny hernothing.





	Strenuous (1)

It's been a long, hot day, fine sailing (the Azores left behind, the Line across their course) and if Jack Sparrow has his way -- and he's the Captain, after all; who'll naysay him? -- it'll be a long, hot night, and by morning the two of 'em will be quite thoroughly exhausted, glued against one another by a sticky accretion of bodily secretions: meanwhile, with the moon still high in the sky and sunrise some hours away, the cabin lit by two lanthorns ("I want to be able to see _'xactly_ what I'm doing") and Jack Shaftoe all breathless and grinning, his plan is shaping and reshaping itself into a veritable _orgy_ of indulgence, self- and Shaftoe-, and Jack's continually inspired to new initiatives by the way that Shaftoe's body reacts, utterly shameless and exuberant, to each and every act that Jack perpetrates upon it: as soon as the cabin door was latched behind them both, Shaftoe was upon him, and Jack's shirt will never be the same but he never much cared for it anyway, least of all with Shaftoe's clever red mouth -- by Christ, he's learned well and fast, and his talent for improvisation! -- on Jack's straining cock, and the way Shaftoe took it all, his broad hands pulling Jack's hips forward and in, and in; 'twas sweet torture to wrest himself from Shaftoe's hold and bid him turn, "no, Jack, not yet, I'm only taking the edge off it," Shaftoe'd protested, and Jack had grinned broad and sharp and told him that _he'd_ be the judge of when and what and how much, "and not to worry, Jack, for I'll not have you spend and spill _just_ yet; in fact, I've every intention of making you _beg_ me for't": he'd known himself close enough that a very few thrusts into that hot, tight body -- over-hastily prepared, but Shaftoe had welcomed the burn, thrusting his hips hard back and impaling himself as though he couldn't wait another moment -- would bring him off before e'er he set hand to Shaftoe's enthusiastic half-cock, and so it'd proved, and Shaftoe had caterwauled fit to wake the dead (never mind the watch on deck, lazy wretches) as he felt Jack release inside him before Shaftoe could reach his own point of no return; so now Jack's tongue, deceptively soothing, is caressing and tasting and exploring the tense, hot, rubescent knot of Shaftoe's arse, tasting salt sweat, smooth vanilla-spiced oil, quintessential Shaftoe-musk and the curiously alkaline savour of his own bitter seed, while on the cot Jack Shaftoe writhes and moans and laughs breathlessly, his strong fingers twisted through their thin and already-tattered sheet, and his half-a-cock is throbbingly, pulsingly alive in Jack's deft clever hand; it isn't that he wants to deprive Jack Shaftoe of his pleasure -- for Shaftoe deserves all the pleasure in the bright shining velvety world -- but he doesn't want to rush it, and Shaftoe's gaspy eagerness is not only immensely flattering, but also delightful to watch; Shaftoe's eyes, all midnight-blue in the light, are fixed solely utterly on Jack, as though he fears to miss a moment of the sight of Jack Sparrow licking, tasting, tormenting him, and it's Jack's name on his lips (oh that mouth; Jack wants to taste it too, wants it on him, but even though he's already spent once, he's already hard again just from the way that Shaftoe, marvellous honest direct Shaftoe, is making no secret of how much, and how, he wants Jack) and the smell, the taste of him, the feel of that tight ring of muscle lazily clenching around Jack's tongue -- Jack remembers the first time he did this to Jack Shaftoe, and Shaftoe's vociferous protests, and then his urgent and contradictory _demands_ , and he grins and inhales more Shaftoe-smell -- and Shaftoe's lying back on the cot, head propped on his hand the better to see Jack, running his tongue (Jack can't help looking, and then can't look away) along his grinning mouth, "Come on, Jack, I'm aching to have you in me again, empty and aching and your tongue, your tongue, mate, it's heaven but I need you all the way," and if that ain't begging then Jack's simply going to have to redefine his terms, because the thought of sinking himself deep inside Jack Shaftoe's incandescent heat, giving it to him hard and slow and every inch, is almost enough to make him spend; in fact, if his neglected cock, heavy against his belly, gets any harder he'll simply _explode_ , and then how will he give Jack Shaftoe what he wants and needs and deserves and _is begging for_ , eh ...Jack withdraws his tongue, with a last languorous lick across Shaftoe's tight, quivering balls, and rocks back on his heels to look at his love; Jack Shaftoe's stretched out across the width of their cot, thighs lolling wide, arsehole glistening with saliva and sweat and seed and oil, his face flushed and gasping, teeth catching his lip -- oh, Jack can't resist, and he kneels up and swipes his savoursome tongue across Shaftoe's mouth, and is caught and drawn in and nipped, and Shaftoe's making a peculiar low humming noise, at once happy and needy, against Jack's mouth; he can't stand it for another minute, though he'd envisioned more teasing and licking and sucking and kissing -- and Jack Shaftoe, tangles of blond hair sticking sweatily to his face and neck, mouth red from Jack's kiss, eyes glazed with lust and smile incitement enough for a Bible-ful of sins, frees his hands from the ruined sheets and twines his fingers around the much-abused chains from which the cot swings, bracing himself for whatever Jack'll do next (and Jack, dazed and dazzled by the sight of Shaftoe so utterly, unequivocally _desperate_ for him, has to admit that there's little doubt of _exactly_ what he's about to do) and Shaftoe pushes his hips forward to give Jack better access, pushes his hips forward until he's right at the edge of the cot, and arches his back; his Remnant is rigid against the hard muscle of his abdomen, rigid and dark and welling, and Jack can't resist that either, but must push himself to his feet to lean down over Shaftoe (his own yard cruelly crushed against Jack Shaftoe's tense thigh) and taste, and taste again; and Shaftoe groans low and long and loud and lewd, thrusting his hips up in the clear hope of fucking Jack's mouth, but oh God no that won't be enough, not now, and so Jack draws back, and they stare at one another for a long, quiet, still moment, and Jack discovers that, for tonight at least, there is nothing that he wants save Jack Shaftoe his Pleasure, and the felicity of sharing it with him: and he catches hold of the cot-chains on his side of the cot, and pulls the whole mess, Shaftoe and sheets and pillows and all, towards himself until his own desperate cock, as urgent and direct as a compass-needle, is pressing just where Shaftoe's begging for it, and then he leans forward, slowly, slowly, pressing _in_.

**Author's Note:**

> Previously on [](http://impofperversity.livejournal.com/profile)[**impofperversity**](http://impofperversity.livejournal.com/) : _[the cot, after all, having proved unequal to the demands made upon it by their more ... strenuous ... activities](http://www.livejournal.com/community/impofperversity/29304.html)_
> 
> [](http://tessabeth.livejournal.com/profile)[ **tessabeth**](http://tessabeth.livejournal.com/) expressed a desire to know what'd happened: and as you all know, I can deny her _nothing_.  
> 


End file.
